


A Backwards Glance

by overworkedunderwhelmed



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Bed Sharing, F/M, FitzSimmons Secret Santa, Fluff, Post-FZZT, What-If, season 1 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9074506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overworkedunderwhelmed/pseuds/overworkedunderwhelmed
Summary: She had dared—for one fleeting instant—to look back over her shoulder at him and saw how his face fell.  Jemma knew him all too well, knew that he doubted his own worth to her.  Her stomach felt as if she were still trapped in that awful free fall.





	1. It’s Science, Fitz.  I have to dissect something!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookishandbossy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookishandbossy/gifts).



> The FitzSimmons Network Secret Santa gift for BookishandBossy. I hope you like it! Her prompt was: The road you didn't take.
> 
> All three chapters will be uploaded today.
> 
> Many, many thanks to AGL03 for early content checks and Dilkirani for her excellent beta work.

The warm smile Jemma had plastered on her face felt suddenly, utterly brittle. She didn’t dare let it break until she was safely hidden behind the slim, less than soundproof walls of her mini-cabin.

Her mind had a tendency to file away odd bits of information for future use, and this time was no exception. The summer after her scoliosis surgery, she had been desperate for anything to get her mind off the silence. The older woman in the room next to her took pity and had given her the only book she’d had on hand. The bible wasn’t exactly prime reading material for someone so enamoured with science, and truth be told, she hadn’t gotten far into the book before setting it aside. But a few of the parables had managed to stand the test of time and memory.

Lot’s wife, fleeing the wake of destruction, had dared to look back for one, fleeting moment and turned to a pillar of salt. 

She had dared—for one fleeting instant—to look back over her shoulder at him and saw how his face fell. Jemma knew him all too well, knew that he doubted his own worth to her. Her stomach felt as if she were still trapped in that awful free fall.

Jemma slammed her eyes shut, trying to blink back and will away the tears that were welling.

As a specialist, Ward did that plane jumping sort of thing on any given Tuesday. She was sure that sort of thing was exciting, if it was your particular cup of tea. And Ward, of course, had been quite dashing in his rescue.

Jemma dipped her chin down to rest on her knees, her arms hugging her knees a bit tighter. Fitz risked himself to help her. He had stepped willingly out of his comfort zone and into a quarantined zone to come to her rescue. He had that much faith in her—in them, really—that he had willingly put his life into her hands.

The same Fitz who hated the slightest change from routine. The same Fitz who had grumbled for nearly a semester and half when she enforced a more semi-professional overhaul of his closet or spent hours griping when she snuck a bag of baked crisps into his stash of snacks. The same boy who hated her when they first met, but who also felt strangely like home with their similar academic history and a sense of homesickness that warred with the sheer joys of scientific discovery. The same man who challenged her to new, shared heights and accomplishments, and somehow also managed to keep her grounded and level. Her friend and academic turned professional partner.

Her...Fitz.

Her relationship with Fitz was so complex and nuanced. That very kindred sense of history in the experiences that had shaped the time before they met. He was her equal partner in the sacredness of science in every respect that mattered. It was so rare a thing that professor after professor had made a special point to pull her aside and remark on it.

Skye had been insistent just earlier today that she knew married couples who knew less about each other than she and Fitz did. So, how was it that he could not believe her, especially after all this time?

Jemma could so easily roll her eyes at that exact moment. If Fitz had been interested, surely she would have known long ago. But somewhere between the thrill of solving the mystery and the normal rush of working with Fitz, she’d felt something. Her brain, usually so adept at classification, struggled to identify it. It was nearly chemical, an elusive spark that had hit her like a punch to the gut. But objectively, she couldn’t be sure. Her brain was literally ramping up to deliver the electrical surge that had already felled three men. Her body was operating with a cocktail of adrenaline as she and Fitz waged war against xenobiological systems and time to save her—to save them all. What if she was mis-reading? Could she really trust her analytical frame of mind under that pressure of hormones and neurotransmitters exerting a biological demand for survival?

Her relationship with Fitz was such a precious and rare thing. Besides, in the near decade of their friendship, he’d never truly indicated that he had considered her more than a friend.

But now? Jemma bit her lip. She couldn’t just let him think that she thought less of him than she did of Grant Ward, even if her own interest in Fitz was never anything she could pursue.

Fitz’s hope truly had saved her more than anything else. Without him and his optimism in an otherwise hopeless case, she would not have taken the risks that allowed her to be alive right now, terrifying free fall notwithstanding. 

She tugged the blanket closer to her to ward off the growing wave of cutis anserina and the tremors that now kept her in near-perpetual motion. Jemma rolled her eyes at her body’s own foolish reactions, as if the blanket might actually quiet the fears that were setting off her fight or flight response. She turned to her desk, meeting her own eyes in the mirror.

She had proven to herself that she was made of stronger stuff than most people would credit her. Coulson had given her grudging respect, although his censure at her making the decision without consulting him was understandable in retrospect. That decision had been easy, even if the ramifications to herself were in all probability fatal. But it had taken nearly everything she had to make sure Fitz would not be able to follow her, to see him screaming when she took that fateful step from the plane ramp.

Physically, it would take far less to march back over to Fitz’s door and knock. Her desire to keep her walls up and not show how she was starting to suffer the fear-filled ill effects of her brush with death was at war with her concern for Fitz.

But he had seen her at the bad times. He was the one who had been there then and he was there today in every way that mattered to her.

She was unable to fight like Agent May, but she could out stubborn nearly everyone. She would fight in her own way.

Besides, she thought as her fingers met the metal of the door frame, flight was far less appealing a term to consider right now.

For the second time today, she looked back at him. The first time to let him go. The risk to her life had been a foregone conclusion. She couldn’t justify the risk to him and to the others. 

But he and Ward both told her he had suited up to jump. Fitz was far more of a hero than he clearly believed.

The second time she would help save him from himself and the gnawing self doubt that showed so clearly on his face.

Jemma set her jaw. They would fix this together.

They always had.


	2. Didn’t even pass our field assessments for god’s sake…

He was half numb. His usually cooperative brain was normally three steps ahead, but was now stuck in a permanent loop. He had almost lost his best friend. Yes, he had stepped out of his comfort zone and helped her save herself.

But were it not for Ward being immediately at hand, he might have jumped after her and they would probably both be dead. In all the years in school, he had never trained for anything quite like this. They both had never passed their field assessments, never so much as fired anything outside of the test rounds for the Night Night gun. Even then, they usually had some help to actually hit the dummy targets.

The picture was clear in his mind that he was the weight dragging down the team, dragging down Jemma. She was right. He had followed her out of the safety of their indoor, non-mobile lab. He could admit that to himself at least. 

He wasn’t good for anything but building, and even that hadn’t been good enough or fast enough to save her from sacrificing herself, throwing herself from the plane to protect him. 

But it was more than that. He’d even lost the structural integrity of those carefully constructed walls, built up and supported with all the refinements that a decade or more could fashion to keep his feelings in the entirely professional arena. He’d decided long ago that Jemma Simmons was entirely out of his league. Gorgeous and brilliant—if a bit odd—she could have any man she wanted. He had a front row seat to the parade of tall, dark, and handsome that made up her entourage of exes. They never seemed to last long.

It was good enough that they had become fast friends. It was good enough that he was still here for her after all this time.

Fitz willed his head to drop back onto his spare pillow, grumbling. He was the only thing not good enough. He was going to bring the whole team down, Jemma right along with him.

His eyes stared unseeing at the low, off white ceiling of his cabin, his fingers fussing absently at the pillow still in his grasp.

He wasn’t even sure how much time had passed, until the knock actually vibrated the door. Fitz sighed, not in any real state to answer it. At least not until he heard her.

“Fitz, please open up.”

He stared over to the door, eyes almost comically wide. He could feel his pulse kick up, despite his best efforts to remain calm. It was just Jemma.

The same Jemma who had stood beside him for years, who he had almost lost mere hours ago because he wasn’t quick enough. Or brave enough.

His hand shoved instantly into his curls in frustration, berating himself silently. It had never been just Jemma.

That was the funny thing about those walls. You build walls up around your home (or your heart) to keep people out. You can live out time in blissful ignorance of the world around you.

But once they fall, rebuilding them can take time. Time was one thing he didn’t have at the moment.

She knocked again, a bit of panic unmistakable in her voice. “Fitz?”

He felt his resolve melt and was off the bed before he could think better of it.

 

She—Simmons, he reminded himself—startled as he opened the door, her eyes meeting the pillow he still held. “I-I’m sorry. Were you already asleep?”

Fitz frowned, his mind uncharacteristically slow to process that she was back. “Not quite.”

“Do you mind if I come in?”

Fitz stepped out of the way, letting her back in. His brows raised as she shut the door behind her.

Rolling her eyes to the ceiling, she blew out a strained breath. “Fitz, I’m having trouble trying to sleep.”

His eyes widened, his own breath hitching slightly before he felt the heavy lump forming at his throat. Je--Simmons must be really struggling. 

She never really met his eyes, though she was looking over in his direction, her weight supported by the doorframe. “I shut my eyes and I’m falling again.” 

Fitz could hardly say anything. His problems—his failings—nearly forgotten, he slumped back against the wall. She trusted him enough to help. Not that he was entirely sure what he might be able to do.

“And I don’t dare take anything. What if we have a mission? Or someone gets hurt?” She whispered. “I need to have all my faculties, just to do my job.”

Inspiration struck, as it so often did, at the oddest opportunity. He silently dashed over to grab his laptop, sitting back onto his bunk to set up one of the few things that usually got them both equal parts nostalgic and entertained on the rare opportunity they chose to unwind for a few hours.

* * *

As the familiar tune pierced through the air, Jemma smiled over to where Fitz was fiddling with his computer settings, vaguely curious what episode he might choose to load. She glanced about the room for a seat, fiddling with her necklace before deciding finally on the pillow against the cabin wall atop his bunk, scooping up the spare pillow he had dropped on the floor.

Truth be told, she had been trying hard to mask the wave of anxiety, the odd mix of relief, the harsh realizations of her own mortality and how close that call truly had come. Professionally, it just wouldn’t do, but it was actually quite challenging to hold up the wall of emotions. It was far more of a relief than she thought to just drop the walls a bit. 

Fitz always was generous, if a bit gruff and cantankerous at times. He wouldn’t really make her explain, he’d just be there when she needed him. He’d understood it, understood her all too well. Always. 

He turned around, scratching his cheek and not quite meeting her eyes, as he puzzled where to set up. 

Rolling her eyes, Jemma quirked her lips and snuggled the spare pillow she’d borrowed stolen. Trust him to worry all too much about the little things.

It was amazing that he didn’t really understand how just how much that all truly meant. That there was just as much heroism in the small, everyday victories as there was in the big ones. The end result was the same. Certainly, she didn’t go into science expecting to cure cancer. There were limitations, and sometimes, an anti-serum was all you needed to do the trick.

“Well?” She patted the bed beside her. “What episode are we starting with?”

He opened and closed his mouth, licking his lip and focusing back to the screen in consideration before quietly sitting down against the wall beside her. He tugged the laptop back onto his lap.

Finally glancing at the screen, she hummed her approval. “Ah. The madman and the box.”

He grinned a bit at that, leaning his back against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, quoting, “I am definitely a madman with a box.”

Jemma smiled, letting herself get lost in the antics of the young Doctor as she sat beside her best friend in the world.

* * *

Fitz wasn’t sure what he was going to do, so he just tried to focus on the show as best he could. Try as he might, he could not ignore the far too pleasant warmth where her slimmer shoulder was pressed next to his. 

Whoever designed these bunks clearly had not considered the more efficient uses of space within the mini-cabin. Would it have killed them to give a few bloody more inches to save his sanity?

With no place else to go but on her lap, her fingers brushed his on occasion as they chattered a bit about the earlier episodes. It was their second run through the episodes, allowing more room for discussion about the quantum physics and near impossibility of the science and the variable cleverness of the foreshadowing they wove into the stories. 

The time between the chatter left his mind prone to wandering. Fitz was rather desperately trying to not focus on how acutely he felt the pain of Rory’s situation. The thought never really struck him this way before tonight.

It had been comforting to see the tension leave Jemma’s shoulders, but he still felt so tightly wound up and must have been telegraphing that to her. This wasn’t the adrenaline rush and the ticking time bomb feeling of the lab today. This was a pressure cooker, slowly building up the tension until it was too dangerous to approach or to try to alleviate lest it all explode.

So, so much could go awry. And he knew her, better than almost anyone. She knew him just as well. Failure had the potential to be catastrophic. If today taught him nothing else, it was that he did not want to live without Jemma Simmons at his side. 

His eyes darted back down to where her fingers grazed his own again.

He wasn’t even sure that would be possible.


	3. We’d be fools to pass this one up...

Jemma wasn’t sure when she dozed off, but clearly she had. The room was silent except for Fitz’s soft snore and the familiar theme hailing the near infinite loop of the DVD menu.

She normally needed a blanket just to fall asleep but the closer quarters and the sheer proximity to Fitz himself had apparently been warm and cozy enough to allow her to sleep. Perhaps she was truly far more exhausted than she had realized, even in spite of her own fears.

Poor Fitz had his arm at an odd angle and the laptop still balanced precariously at the edge of his lap, all just to make her more comfortable. He must have laid that way all evening, and now was going to wake up all pins and needles. Jemma absently wondered if Fitz even realized he was doing that, as she set about shifting him into some position more conducive to blood flow.

Turning herself onto her side, she pulled the laptop free, shutting it down. She precariously reached over Fitz’s sleeping form to set it on the small bedside table bolted to the wall, the bolts creaking slightly with her shifting weight. Jemma winced, watching Fitz for any startling awake. It didn’t seem likely that she’d be able to move without waking him up, even if it was the middling hours of the night.

As she slowly and methodically moved back, she was careful to move his arm, slowly and precisely into just the right position that might allow him more comfortable rest.

What Jemma did not expect were his lips to turn down into a sleep addled frown. She certainly didn’t expect him to reach out, wind his arm about her shoulders, and hug her closer.

She quirked a brow at the humor of it all. For as well as they both knew each other, this was definitely new. Fitz was, in point of fact, a cuddler.

She moved slightly, and he actually managed to snuggle his head in closer, his curls tickling at her own forehead.

Jemma sighed at the ceiling, before allowing herself to sink further back into the mattress. Her prickly partner would be prickly once more when daylight broke through the clouds. But for the next few hours, she would allow herself an indulgence—to cuddle in closer to Fitz and bury her nose into the soft wool just below his clavicle. 

Professionalism could wait for now.

* * *

Fitz struggled to part his bleary eyes, simultaneously achy and warm. Even this sleep addled, his mind searched for a time where he’d ever woken up this warm. Maybe he’d need to spend an extra bit of time on the systems maintenance rooms this morning. 

He rolled onto his back, dragging his free hand over his eyes, forcing awareness to reach him. And it did, as the weight of Jemma’s hand, still fisted into his jumper, now plopped unceremoniously onto his chest.

Fitz’s eyes opened in shock, immediately wincing as the harsh daylight now shining through the sole window panel strained his eyes. He was reasonably sure they had both fallen asleep on opposite sides of the bunk, small though it was. 

It was simply inconceivable for him to wake up with his legs tangled up between hers. His hand fisted in front of his lips to stifle the groan, as the shock somewhat tempered his purely biological reaction to waking up—and doing so next to his lovely partner. His hand dug anxiously into his curls. This all could have gone so poorly. 

His eyes darted over to meet hers, daring only to exhale when he confirmed her eyes were closed and still but for the slight eye movement that characterized the deeper REM sleep cycle.

If she had been any more awake, she might have noticed. Or worse: rationalized it in gloriously tedious, biological detail. This whole situation was messy enough. They both liked relative tidiness in order, albeit in very different respects—his were largely related to his designs. Things had been comfortable between them, if a bit lonely on his part. 

Fitz gulped audibly, as she shivered and then closed the few inch distance between them, re-settling her head on his shoulder. He forced himself to relax his muscles, sinking back into the mattress, slamming his eyes shut to the world for whatever precious moments remained. He tilted his head closer to hers.

Jemma was only searching for warmth and comfort, but it was forcing him to deal with one very ugly truth: he was anything but immune to his very professional lab partner. He had rarely been able to tell her no before, and nearly losing her was only drawing his focus on whether or not he even could. 

Fitz worried at the inside edge of his lip, trying to regulate his breathing and pretend to sleep for longer. He was the one who needed to become stronger. Physically, yes, but also at drawing the dividing line for himself. He had to re-draw that boundary for himself, ceding to her whatever territory was needed for her to regain her own self-control and for him to offer her any comfort he could.

He had to do it. He needed her there at his side, in any way he could get. 

* * *

They had at least an hour or so before the plane would touch down at the Sandbox, and the scientific team would expect a full picture on the appropriate containment regimen for however long it might be stored in SHIELD’s vaults. It had taken a bit longer than she hoped to get to sleep, so she was more than willing to cat nap for a few minutes more to be at her best for her inevitable infectious disease debriefing.

It was taking all she had not to smile, not to signal that she was awake right now. At least at some level, Fitz unquestionably noticed that she was in fact very female. When she had noticed some minutes before, she moved discreetly away, giving him the slightest bit of privacy. 

Jemma blew out a long, steadying breath, drawing up her knees slightly. She didn’t dare move her hands for fear of waking Fitz. Honestly, he was always so squeamish about what amounted to little more than natural bodily function and autonomic response. 

She felt him shift beside her and stilled, trying to keep her breathing steady and even to not alert. He had gone far and above the call of best friend in the past 24 hours. There would be ample opportunity for her to fully enjoy his blushing panic later when she was far more awake and able to rationalize to herself that she wasn’t supposed to enjoy this proximity and his warmth. It would be no less endearing to her, but it would be far more safe. 

With a sleepy sigh, Jemma snuggled her head onto his shoulder, worried she would reveal herself. The steady thud of his heartbeat was slightly fast, leaving her simultaneously anxious and reassured as his muscles slowly relaxed beneath her head. 

The close quarters of the plane were definitely having some unintended consequences. It would be a lie to say that she didn’t enjoy the attention, but it left her worried. Their partnership was everything to her. She could only allow herself five more minutes to mentally recharge and bolster her resolve to get up and face the day, to rebuild the wall, and pretend again to not be affected by her amazing partner.

She did not expect the soft press of his lips at her hairline, nor how much the quiet action would have a profound effect on her own pulse and the near electric hum that filled the void where she knew anatomically her stomach should reside. Clearly, she had underestimated the danger Fitz posed to her own composure.

“Fitz!” Skye hissed, knocking loudly on his bunk door. “Are you there?”

He was already having trouble keeping his composure, but the knock sent him jumping and surely waking Jemma up. He frowned at the door, daring a quick, apologetic glance back at her now wide, chocolate brown eyes. “Yeah, Skye?”

“We can’t find Simmons.”

Fitz gaped, meeting Jemma’s eyes in silent question.

With a sigh, Jemma crawled over the edge of the bed to pull open the cabin door.

Skye’s eyes grew very wide, the corners of her lips curling up. “Oh.” 

Jemma’s polite, clinical mask slid into place as she cracked open the door. “Did you need something?”

“Coulson said we’re landing in 15.” Skye shook her head, inclining her neck slightly to glance back at Fitz still in the room behind Simmons. Her eyes narrowed as if she were trying to place her finger on something that seemed off. “And I got worried when I couldn’t find you in your lab, your bunk, or the kitchen.” 

Jemma smiled, relieved. She combed her fingers through her hair, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Skye's eyes grew wide as saucers as she took in the whole picture of Jemma slightly mussed and quite conspicuously wearing the same outfit she had yesterday. She raised her eyebrows meaningfully back at Fitz, a mischievous smile flitting across her lips before she turned away. "I'll see you guys at the briefing.” Jemma closed the door behind her, heart hammering in her chest as she turned to face Fitz. Her mind was running with what she should do, what she should say with the little time they had left before SHIELD required them both to be at their best. "Thank you," she finally managed, meeting him in the eye. “For all of this.”

With the weight of her gaze, Fitz could only nod, his hands fiddling with the logo on the laptop. He didn’t trust his own voice at the moment. There was too much that needed to be said, too much that needed to be understood—by them both—before that sort of conversation could even be possible. All of which wasn’t possible at the moment, with the bus due to touch down and with Fitz’s eyes inconveniently locking on Jemma’s slightest movements.

“I should get back to my room,” Jemma murmured, gesturing to her clothes. “I’m sure the others will notice if I haven’t changed.”

Fitz grimaced. “Skye definitely did.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Yes. She made that pretty clear.”

His eyes drew to the floor. It was probably too much to hope that Skye might keep that to herself, which might jeopardize any further interaction outside the lab. That was assuming Jemma was even interested in continuing that.

He didn’t even notice that Jemma had been watching him, biting her lip until she spoke again. “Maybe I should talk with her.”

Brows raising in confusion, Fitz pressed. “About...?”

“Keeping quiet.” Jemma smiled. “I thought it might be nice to spend another evening like this.”

“It would.”

Jemma frowned, her hand stalling over the door handle. “I’m hearing a ‘but’ in that.”

“But it might also be nice to go...someplace nice.”

Jemma’s eyes were wide. “Oh.”

“But only if—” Fitz hedged, suddenly feeling the wave of panic set in. He fidgeted, struggling to get his breathing in check enough to continue on. “If there was some place you might like to go?”

When Fitz finally dared to raise his eyes back to hers, it felt like an age. But then, her eyes slowly softened in concert with the soft smile growing on her lips. “Maybe there is.”


End file.
